Animorphs Oneshot Collection
by Shane C
Summary: All in the title, baby. I've been writing so many of these one-shots that I decided to put them all into one place to avoid cluttering the fandom. As always, please be so kind as to review. New content up, 5/6/12 - Rachel's POV, part 2 of 3.
1. The Daily Show Interview

**Author's Note: **Just kind of got hit with this idea randomly today. I know I want to see more of post-war Marco, so it's probably a safe bet other people do, too. Since Marco's last name is never given in the series, I'm taking the liberty of giving him one. I feel wrong doing it, but it's necessary. This is after Visser Three's trial but before Menderash's report. Hope you enjoy this little one shot starring our favorite funny guy. :D

**The Daily Show Interview**

The pretty blond coordinator of the Daily Show with Jon Stewart poked her head into the greenroom's doorway. "Two minutes, Mr. Gomez."

I looked up from my magazine and gave her my best smile. "Thanks, Jen," I said casually. I could tell she was impressed that I remembered her name – it's one of my many talents. Something as simple as remembering a name or a face could open doors that were closed before. She nodded and left, and I stood up when I was alone. I spent the short time before the show making sure my suit was impeccable; I had a reputation as a high-fashion representative, and I didn't want Georgio calling me, telling me that I was bringing his style down with a rumpled suit. Yeah. Georgio Armani. _That_ Georgio.

Before I knew it, it was time. I smothered the tiny bit of stage fright that I still got when doing worldwide interviews and walked onto the stage. The crowd went crazy, but that was nothing new. I gave them my best "meet-the-people" smile and waved. Before I sat on the couch, I shook Jon Stewart's offered hand and bowed to the crowd one more time in the slightly self-mocking style people seemed to love me for.

Just as the applause started to die down, Jon got them fired up again. "One more time for the true, blue, American hero, Marco Gomez!" The crowd roared again, and I smiled and shook my head self-deprecatingly, even though this was my favorite part of all of the fame.

Finally, I had to stand and take another bow. "All right, all right!" I yelled with a smile. "Sit down, fools!" The audience laughed and did what I said. As the last whistles died down, Jon shook my hand again.

"Wow, Marco Gomez, thanks so much for coming on the show tonight! Man, it's been a while! So tell us, what have you been up to? You've got a ton of projects going on, I hear."

"Oh God, yes," I said. "Way too much – sometimes I miss the days when all I had to do was pretend to be an average kid while running death campaigns against the Yeerks." The crowd laughed. "No, let's see – I'm working on my TV show, of course, and I've got a feature film in the works. But hell with me, I'm just an Animorph – what have _you _been doing, Jon?"

Among the laughter, Jon grinned. "Yeah, because that's what people want to hear about. Okay, we'll get into your projects later, because I know everybody wants to hear about them, but first thing's first. Last month, your testimony helped to put the war criminal, Visser Three, away for life." The crowd cheered hysterically at that. "Tell me what that was like."

I shrugged. "Honestly, it was anti-climactic. For so long I thought that it was going to be either him or us, laid out dead. To just put him in a box forever is not the outcome I expected. As long as he's not able to cause any more trouble, I guess I'm happy with it, you know?" Jon nodded.

"And what about the others? How are the other Animorphs getting along?"

This was the tough question everybody always wanted to ask, and I never knew quite what to say. Ax and Cassie were easy – I started out with them, as usual. "Well, I got a hologram from Ax a few days ago. He's ready for me to Z-space him a few hundred boxes of Cinnabons." I waited for the crowd to stop laughing at that – I had made sure Ax's addiction to cinnamon rolls was well-documented. "No, but seriously, I talked to him two days ago. His task force is scouring the _Chubar _system on some super-important scouting mission. Ax couldn't be happier – he's living his dream."

"Cassie's doing great, too. Last I heard, she was in South Africa, doing work with the World Wildlife Fund in collaboration with the Ministry of the Interior. By the way, check out wwf dot com if you want to donate and help out – ten bucks gets you a cool t-shirt and will go a long way towards saving the endangered species. Remember, _we _were an endangered species last year, so let's do our part to help out, huh?" Polite applause at that, but I knew that conservation stuff Cassie shoved down everybody's throat wasn't good panel. I promised her that I'd mention it whenever I got the chance, and I know she appreciated it.

"That's great," Jon said. "I haven't gotten the pleasure of meeting Ax, but tell him he's welcome to come by the show for an interview whenever he wants – all the cinnamon rolls he can eat." He leaned forward and looked slightly apologetic as he asked, "What about Tobias and Jake?"

I sighed theatrically. "Tobias is still not talking to anyone. Not just us – anyone." I looked into the camera. "I don't know where you are, but if you're watching this, Tobias, we'd love to see you, man. I hope you're doing okay. You're every bit as much a hero as the rest of us, and I'd like to see you come and enjoy it a little. My door's always open, man." The crowd applauded in a slow, sad way; they felt the same way. Tobias was such a tragic figure, people couldn't help but to love him and share his pain.

"And Jake?" Jon prompted. This one was a little easier, now that Jake had seemed to get his head out of his butt, at least a little.

"Jake's working again, and he's doing well. I saw him last week – we played some racquetball."

Jon grinned. "Who won?"

"Oh, I stomped his ass," I gloated, and the audience laughed again, amused. It wasn't exactly true – Jake had always been better at sports, but I played racquetball twice a week as part of my exercise regimen. I'd beat him by a point in the heated match. Jake, competitive as ever, had smashed his racquet in frustration; I didn't tell the crowd about that, though.

"That's nice; always fun to destroy a friend in competitive sports," Jon laughed. "So what's Prince Jake working on?" Once the media had found out what Ax called Jake, they had adopted the nickname as sort of a pet name for him, to show they adored him, I guess. He wasn't as tragic as Tobias, but people handled him with kid gloves a lot because of the near-breakdown he'd had after the war.

"Top secret – all I can say is that he's been contracted by the US Government. Apart from that, _I _don't even know what he's doing. I guess they aren't sure if I can be trusted," I joked, and got a good reaction from the crowd. Everybody knew that if the government couldn't trust me, they couldn't trust _anyone_. "But whatever he's doing, it's making him happy. I haven't seen him in this good of a mood in a long time."

The crowd liked that and clapped. I continued. "On a more somber note, the anniversary of the end of the war is coming up; that means Rachel's anniversary, as everybody knows." You could have heard a pin drop – nobody liked thinking about poor Rachel and her fate, but it had to be said because of the timing of the interview. "There's going to be a public memorial next Sunday for anyone who wants to attend."

"I, for one, am definitely going to be there," Jon said, then quickly changed the subject to something lighter. "So, what's this movie all about?"

I grinned. "We just started casting. It's going to be a huge cast of A-listers with an awesome plot, tons of action…you're not going to want to miss it. That's all I can say for now."

"Will you be in it?" Jon asked, and I kept grinning.

"Again, you'll just have to wait and see…but if I were me, I'd do a cameo, at least." The audience laughed at my wit.

"I hear you're in a relationship now," Jon said, and the females in the audience groaned. I laughed.

"Yeah. It's new, but so far it's going great. Jenna's awesome."

"For those of you who don't know, Marco's seeing Jenna Applewhite from the hit show Shadow Crimes, on every Wednesday night at nine eastern. Great show. Glad to hear everything's going well for you, man, and thank you so much for coming on. Ladies and gentlemen, Marco Gomez!" I stood and waved and bowed again as the crowd went banana-sandwich. "We'll be right back!" The camera guy gave the signal to let us know we were off the air, and Jon leaned over and grabbed my hand in a firm grip.

Just to me, he said, "Thank you so much, Marco. Not just for the interview, for everything. My wife was a controller, and they were working on getting me when you guys stopped them. I owe you more than my life, Marco, thanks so much."

I got this all the time, but it still made me feel warm and fuzzy every time. "That's what I'm here for," I grinned at him. "Thanks for the air time, Jon. Next time I'm in New York, we'll have to do lunch."

"Absolutely, you've got my info," he said, pleased. I waved to the crowd one more time and went backstage. I wore my smile until I got into the greenroom and shut the door, then I allowed myself to sink onto the couch to wind down. I looked around and allowed myself to finally feel the sense of wonder I usually got at one of these things. "I'm sitting in Jon Stewart's greenroom. I just did an interview that the whole world watched. They love me," I told myself, and my smile became genuine. "Wow. Crazy." I pulled out my Blackberry to call my driver to take me to dinner to meet my new girlfriend, and as it rang, I said it again. "Crazy."


	2. A Final Offer

**A Final Offer**

(NO!) I yelled, and my tiger's body empathized with an earth-shattering roar of its own. (Rachel! NO!)

I tore toward where she was engaged with two Hork-bajir as fast as I could. My massive paws were kicking up dead leaves and bracken, tearing up the forest floor like an out-of-control lawnmower as I tried to turn the speed up even more. Rachel was losing; as I watched, one of the Hork-bajir managed to slip behind her massive, shaggy form and landed a vicious kick in the general area of the grizzly's kidneys. Rachel let out a deafening roar of her own, but it was a roar of pain as much as a cry of fury. There was no way I was going to make it in time to help. The other Hork-bajir, taking advantage of her distraction, hit her in the neck with a wrist blade, and she dropped like a puppet with her strings cut.

'_Severed spine,_' I thought randomly as they began kicking her downed, motionless body. No way Rachel would _ever _lay there and take it without a fight if her body was physically able to move. I kept running toward them, but dammit, I wasn't getting any closer. Blood flew from Rachel's body and the Hork-bajirs' talons, droplets sparkling in the sun like castoff from some macabre sprinkler. (Rachel!) I screamed, trying to do something_, anything. _(Demorph, Rachel!)

But it was too late. I could no longer see the rise and fall of her chest; blood streamed from torn meat, visible clearly through the grizzly's thick fur. The Hork-bajir, realizing their job was done, laughed at me, turned and ran. They were long gone by the time I finally, finally, finally got to Rachel. I was yelling at her to demorph, shoving her massive body roughly with my tiger's head. (Please, Rachel, get up, please, I promise I won't send you into any more fights by yourself; please, please get up! Be okay, Rachel, what is your mom going to say when she finds out I sent you to your death? Get up, get up! Don't do this to me!) I wasn't even paying attention to what I was screaming at her; I was hysterical, crying, hopeless…I was done. I lay down beside her in the pool of blood and screamed in agony – I had finally done it. I had finally killed my cousin.

I stopped acting like a crazy person long enough to nudge her face…but, to my shock and disgust, the flies had already gone to work. Maggots fell streaming from her empty eye sockets and mouth. (What the -)

I felt like I was falling, and as I did, I heard an intense, booming, sadistic laugh. (OH JAKE, LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE.) I was away from the forest, in some sort of star field. I realized what must be happening, and I yelled back at the booming voice.

"This is a dream! You hear me? A dream!" I was trying to convince myself more than anyone or anything else.

(THIS TIME,) the voice agreed. (BUT IT IS ALSO REALITY. IT IS WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF YOU DO NOT STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING. GIVING UP YOUR FIGHT IS THE ONLY WAY YOU WON'T BE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR COUSIN'S DEATH.)

"So that's what this is about!" I raged. My resolve strengthened. "You're going to need more than dreams to get me to stop, Crayak! Your Howlers couldn't stop us and neither can you!"

Crayak's voice, already impossibly loud, doubled in volume. He laughed like I was a small, stupid child, and I wanted to cover my ears with my hands. But I didn't have ears. I didn't have hands.

"Argg!" The laugh had stopped instantly, and I was back in my bedroom. My head was pounding so hard I thought it would explode; I instinctively reached for the small trash can beside my bed and threw up into it with the image of Rachel's maggot-riddled body still in my mind. Little by little, the pain and pressure faded enough to let me think. I sat up straight in my bed and rubbed my face. My entire body was drenched in sweat; it felt as if I'd just gotten out of a hot swimming pool. I stumbled to my bathroom, cut the shower on, and got in without bothering with hot water.

The icy stream of water woke me up instantly and put things in perspective. You know how some dreams have a way of insisting that they're real, even after you've woken up all the way? That was how this was, until the chill of the water washed the feeling away. I sat down and let the cold water pour over me as I leaned my head against the back of the shower wall. "Rachel's okay. It was just a dream," I told myself out loud. After a half an hour or so, I started shivering; I turned off the water and toweled off.

I was almost not surprised to see the Drode, Crayak's minion, sitting on my vanity when I turned to the mirror. "Go away," I whispered.

He looked at me sadly. "I will," he whispered back. "The Mighty Crayak wanted me to offer you one more chance, Jake. This is no dream; I'm really here. Just say the word, and all of this disappears. All the pain, the fear, the anger, and the shame – instantly gone without a trace, as if it were never there. Just say the word – this is your final offer."

"Never." I would not give in to this. "You know what I think? I think we're going to win; that's why your boss is trying so hard to make us give up. You go back and tell him that."

The Drode shrugged and vanished. I walked back to my room, clean, dry, and full of emotions. Yeah, I was scared – despite my speech to the Drode, I was almost certain we were going to lose this war. But you know what? The thought of quitting, of giving in to Crayak, was way scarier. I looked at my telephone, but resisted the urge to call and check on Rachel. I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up, reveling in the warmth.

Crayak could keep at me all he wanted. He might win; we might all die in horribly violent ways, as he'd predicted. But as much as that thought filled me with horror, the thought of giving in to him was worse. No way. No way in hell.

I was in it to the bitter end. The thought put a smile on my face that I fell asleep wearing.


	3. Rachel's Lament

_Rachel's Lament _

She was dead, but not gone.

She was alive in so many ways. Alive in me. I couldn't look at the sky without seeing her eyes, and I lived in the sky. When I closed my eyes, all I saw was hers. She was mine, even though I couldn't hold her. My hawk's heart was too small to hold her in it, but I knew that if I'd had a human heart, it would be too small, too. If my heart were the size of the earth, it would still be too small. Even in death, Rachel was larger than life. Tears were not wet enough to do her justice; sorrow was not sad enough.

I spent my time with her. We would soar the skies together, and I would talk to her. She couldn't talk back, but she listened. She heard me. I believed that – it was the only thing that I had to believe. I traveled the country, searching fields and meadows for something perfect. Looking for the perfect flower to symbolize her beauty. Every now and then, I'd find one; sometimes a wild rose, sometimes a tulip that was abnormal with its splendor. I would pluck it from the earth and begin the journey back to Santa Barbara, intent on getting there before the flower (Rachel) could die, to place it on her grave. I never did; sometimes the flower (Rachel) would wither before I got it home. Sometimes I would look at it for too long, and I would start to see flaws and imperfections. Rachel had none, not to me, and I'd realize that this flower could not stand in her place, that it wasn't good enough. So, I would have to content myself with clearing away the flowers others had left on her grave; plain, ordinary flowers that weren't good enough for her.

As the journeys became harder, I realized that I was aging. I was excited at the prospect, grateful that every day was closer to my last on this earth. I was fierce with the hope that when my tiny heart thumped out its last, feeble beat, that would be the moment when I would finally see Rachel again. That I would see her for real, somewhere other than inside my mind. The sky would not have to stand in for her eyes; I would look into the real things, deep blue, and know that I was home. Each day closer to death was one more day closer to Rachel.

One morning, when I woke up, I knew instinctively that it was my last day. My feathers had been falling out, bones growing brittle, mind becoming fragile. I held on to the branch tightly with my talons as I stared at the sky, unblinking. Of course, on this day, the sky was a rich, beautiful blue; it was as if the world itself was promising me what I desired most. As I faded, I let go of everything except for my branch. I knew that would be the last thing, that once I let go of that, I would be gone from this, and my real existence, the one in her presence, could begin. Finally, as I stared, the sky's color changed into the unique, unmatched blue of Rachel's eyes, and I cried. Not with my eyes, but with my soul; I wept, because I knew I was going home. And as I let go of my branch, as I let go of everything, I heard her laugh. She was happy.

So was I.

**A/N: **This ficlet was inspired by the song She Had the World, performed by Panic! At the Disco. If you were to listen to it as you read this, it would probably hold a deeper meaning for you. And I did forget to mention that this is based on Tobias not going with Jake and Menderash.


	4. The Commercial

**Author's Note: **I suppose I'm in post-war, one-shot mode tonight; right on the heels of The Daily Show Interview, I came up with the idea for this one. Most of my post-war one shots have been pretty dark and/or emotional – this one's not. Just some Marco and Jake friendship without the pressure of that little thing called the Yeerk invasion of Earth. Enjoy! Oh, and _do _take the time to let me know what you think, if you would be so kind.

**The Commercial**

It had started off innocently enough.

Marco had made the time to stop by my house and shoot some hoops with me on Saturday. I really did appreciate it, although I'd never tell _him _that – he was so busy with being a mega-celebrity, I was always halfway surprised when he answered his phone for me, let alone stopped by my place to chill. I was stomping all over him at one-on-one; I had at least six inches on him, a fact he reminded me of every time I made a basket. When one of my shots went wide of the mark, the ball bounced down the driveway and hit the bumper of his car. Even though it didn't do anything to it, he still freaked out.

"Game over," he announced. "That's a seventy-thousand dollar machine you just hit with a ten dollar piece of rubber."

I stared. "You spent seventy-thousand on a car?"

"Nope. It was a gift from Audi for doing that commercial last month." We went into my parents' kitchen to hydrate; I tossed him a Gatorade and leaned against the counter.

"They _gave _you that as payment?" I asked. I'm sure I had a look of disbelief on my face - I'd seen the commercial he was talking about. He had been on it for all of five seconds with a single line – "When I need power, I go gorilla. When I need speed…I go Audi." Cheesy, but he was proud of it.

He looked at me like I was the most ignorant person on Earth. "No, I told you – it was a gift. I made a quarter mil for that spot, I think."

I shook my head in disgust. "That's outrageous."

He smiled like I'd given him a compliment. "I know." His eyes narrowed at me, and I knew the look well – Marco was scheming. "You still getting offers to do any, yourself?" he asked innocently. "Because my people would _love _it if you would do one. You know, raise my profile by raising yours."

I actually _hadn't _gotten any offers for about a month, and I was glad; at first, every company you could think of was absolutely hounding me. Once I started being rude and reminding the more annoying businessmen that I had a Siberian tiger morph at my disposal, I guess they figured it was best to leave me alone. "No, and I like it that way. I'd really like to stay out of the spotlight. You know that."

Marco was relentless. "How much money do you have in your bank account?" he asked, blatant and shameless.

"Enough," I replied defensively. The United States Government sent me a monthly check for my service to my country – that's what the letters said, anyway. It wasn't a lot, but it was more than enough to live off of. I had bought my own little house down the street from my parents, but I spent more time at my childhood home than I did at my own. Sometimes I liked to be alone, but mostly it gave me too much time to think. Plus, in a way, I think it kind of made up for me losing Tom, being with my parents so much.

He gestured for me to follow him outside. "I want to show you something." I followed him into my garage, where my 1998 Toyota Corolla was parked. He pointed to it and gave me a look like he was in actual pain. "The most famous guy on the planet besides me is driving _that_. Do you have any idea what that looks like? How that makes me look?"

I was surprised – not at Marco's superficial judgments, but at the implication that my preference to drive a low-key car somehow affected him. "Makes _you _look? How the hell does what I drive have anything to do with _you_?"

Again, he looked at me like I was some backwater ignoramus. "You're my best friend. I'm on the Fortune 500 list, and I'm letting my best friend and the champion of the Yeerk War drive something that belongs in a scrapyard. I have a generous reputation to uphold, and you're killing me."

I realized that he was actually making me feel guilty and laughed. "Dude, you are the biggest manipulator I've ever met. How am I letting you make me feel bad about this?"

He sensed victory was close and took the opportunity to pounce. "One commercial. One day. I'll negotiate a fat paycheck for you, _and _I'll buy you a new car out of my own pocket," he promised. "What do you say? For me, buddy? For old time's sake?"

He had me, and he knew it. I couldn't turn it down without looking like a selfish jerk, even though Marco was acting to elevate his own status as well as mine. "Dammit…all right," I muttered. He knew better than to celebrate, but he couldn't keep a grin off of his face. "One commercial," I clarified, holding up a finger to emphasize my point. "One day, one commercial, and you can never bother me about it again."

"Deal!" he crowed. He was already dialing his phone. "You are awesome, Jake; one of a kind. You are the _man!_" He walked away as whoever he was calling answered. "Al, baby, what's up? You're not gonna _believe _who I just got to agree to that commercial spot." I shook my head and went inside.

_Monday morning_

I was trying to keep up as Marco breezed through the production lot toward the studio we'd be shooting the commercial at. He seemed to know every single person we passed by name, and said hurried hellos to all of them. When we reached the studio door, he put up a hand to stop me. "All right, man, this is it. I got you two-hundred grand for this commercial – say thank you." I rolled my eyes, but I said it. "Okay. twenty minutes in make-up and wardrobe, one line, and you're out of here."

"Good – we'll have plenty of time to browse the car lots for the perfect ride," I told him, and I was pleased to see that he looked bothered about it. I _knew _he'd been counting on the fact that I didn't really want a new car. I _didn't _want a new car, but I wanted him to squirm for a little while. "First we'll go to Porsche, and if they don't have anything expensive enough for me, we'll hit the Ferrari dealership."

"Whatever – first you have to get through this commercial," he said as he led me inside. He led me to a small room where a woman immediately began dusting my face with powder. I sneezed and glared at him, but I didn't say anything. Once the lady was done with make-up and had dressed me, Marco said, "All right, let's hit the set. Remember, it's a job, and they're paying you a _lot _of money."

The way he said it made me suspicious. "What, exactly, am I endorsing?" I asked as we walked onto the set. Before he could answer, I spoke up again; the way the set was set up was confusing. "Are we in the right place?"

He grimaced. "Do _not _freak out – it's a job. An extremely well-paying job."

I didn't like where this was going. "Marco? What is the product?"

He sighed. "Purina." He put his hand on my chest as I started to rage. "Look, you don't actually have to _eat _the dog food. You just say, "This is Jake Berenson. Take it from me – this is one dog who can tell you what he likes. And I like Purina." Perfectly harmless, and it'll be over before -" I didn't even let him finish, just untucked the shirt and started wiping the make-up off with it as I walked away. He chased me, of course. "Jake, come on, man! This is -"

"This is the worst thing you've ever done to me," I finished his sentence for him, giving him a withering glare. "Marco, you are the world's biggest ass. Dog food? Dog food?" I could feel my voice rising, but I didn't care.

He just shrugged. "It could be worse."

"You're an ass," I repeated, and walked away from him. I should have known better than to trust Marco.

He seemed to notice all of the production people were watching him. "That's cool," he called after me. "You just think about it, then." I heard him turn to the director and say, "He's going to think about it. Sorry. He -" his excuses were cut off as I exited the studio, shaking my head.

"Dog food," I repeated to myself, still fuming. The idea was ridiculous, ludicrous, asinine. It was _so _Marco.

Dog food.


	5. The Gorilla Speaks Dedication Page

_Dedication page from Marco's novel, The Gorilla Speaks_

People in general are an extremely curious group. They're irrational, but irrational doesn't mean unpredictable. As a matter of fact, if you really stop to think about it, you can pretty much know what people are going to do in any given situation. There are exceptions to that; we all have an idea of what the word hero means. Of how people should act. But the difference between how people _should _act and how they actually behave in a crisis situation is vast. When people see a terrible accident, they almost invariably stop. But they don't stop to help - in general, they stop to watch. Rare is the person who stops to act, to do what they can to improve the situation. Even more rare is the person who does so in the spirit in which we think they should – not because someone is watching, or because they're getting paid, or even because it's their job, their responsibility. Every now and then, maybe once in a generation, maybe less, someone exists that does it simply because it's the right thing to do. They don't need a bigger reason than that. They do it because they can't do anything else; their spirit won't let them keep going without putting it all on the line. They can't rest until they know they've literally left all that they have and all that they are out on the battlefield, whether the battlefield is metaphorical or literal. They do it because there's no one else _to_ do it – and the responsibility of knowing that lives hang on their actions makes them stronger instead of crushing them, where it would kill most people, normal people.

You may think that I'm wrong, that this sort of person doesn't exist; not anymore, at least. That maybe the people with this quality throughout history have just been legends, exaggerations meant to keep us looking at the better aspects of human nature as opposed to reality - that we're essentially selfish creatures. Seven years ago, the day before I met Prince Elfangor, I probably would have been one of these people, the nonbelievers. I would have been even more skeptical if you told me one that I knew one of these real-life heroes personally, that I grew up with one. I would have been dead wrong.

Jake Berenson. Normal name. If you met him and you didn't know who he was and what he'd done, you'd make the mistake of thinking he was just a normal guy. You'd be making a huge mistake. My friend Jake is the best person I know. The best person in the world. He was willing to give the people he loved up to save the people he didn't even know. You're sitting at your desk reading this right now because of his actions, his sacrifices. And, even though the war is over and he won it for all of us, he's still sacrificing. He still has the weight of thousands of the dead on his conscious. It hasn't killed him by now, and I don't think it ever will. But, if you believe in heroes, do me a favor. Say a prayer to God, or Buddha, or Allah, or whoever you believe in – say a prayer to the god of your understanding and ask him to take away a little of my friend Jake's burden. Ask them to take away a little bit of the responsibility he still shoulders. If anyone out there deserves a little relief, a little mercy, it's my buddy Jake. He's my hero, and whether you acknowledge it or not, he's yours, too.

This book is dedicated to you, pal. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here to write it, and no one would be here to read it. Thank you, man.


	6. The Unraveling

**Author's Note: **I was recently re-reading #54, and one part in particular stood out to me. The part where Marco is trying to describe Jake's behavior after the war, and he says something along the lines of, "Jake, being Jake, didn't go off and become a drug addict or anything." I was just trying to put myself in Jake's shoes, and I gotta admit, my thoughts went pretty dark. So this is just a one-shot about how things might have went for our friend Jake in another universe. **Warning: **Contains spoilers for the last installment of Animorphs and is on the heavy side of the teen rating for gratuitous drug use and dark thoughts. Even though it's a one-shot, I'd appreciate you leaving any thoughts or comments you might have. Thank you and enjoy!

**The Unraveling**

My name is Jake. By the time Earth knew it needed me, the war was over and it didn't need me anymore.

I sat in my old, upstairs bedroom at my parents' house and tried to understand how I got to this point. I was a planetary hero. I was _the _planetary hero. I could have had anything in the world I wanted – the problem was that I didn't want anything. Well, that wasn't true – I only wanted two things, and I couldn't have either one.

I wanted Rachel back. I missed her more than I would have ever thought was possible. It was unequivocally unfair that she made it all the way to the end, just to be killed moments before the drawn-out war was over. Even more unfair was that I was unarguably to blame. I had been the one to give the order that killed her. I had all but said the words, "Rachel, I sentence you to death."

I wanted Tom back. The whole reason I had even _fought _the God damned war for so long was to get my brother back. It was a cruel twist of fate that I'd had to have Rachel kill him in order to win the war. After being lucky for so long, after all the terrible decisions I'd been forced to make, maybe it was only fair that I lost two members of my family at once. Maybe it was a reasonable price to pay to save the human race. I didn't feel like it, though, and now that it was over, I didn't care about the human race. I cared about my cousin and my brother, and they were gone. I would have traded the whole world for the two of them, straight across.

These thoughts never stopped. On the off chance I was actually able to fall asleep, Rachel and Tom haunted my dreams, hurling recriminations at me. In my dreams, I always stood there and took it – even in sleep, I knew it was no less than I deserved.

I guess it was only natural for me to try to escape from it. They say there's no escape from life, but I'd pulled off the impossible before. I'd begun drinking heavily. It didn't help while I was conscious, but after a certain amount of alcohol, my brain shut down, and it was blessed relief.

After a short while of binge drinking, several things happened. My body began to shut down – I could see the red blotches in my skin, the sallow look of my eyes. I had random cuts, bruises, and burns all over my body from accidents while I was blacked out. I looked at each painful injury as payment for my crimes. I would have continued until I died, but my parents intervened and saved my life. I wish they would have let me go.

After I got out of treatment and away from all the clichés and lies of the councilors, I tried to find another way to get away. All treatment had done was take away my pleasure at being able to slip away into a drunken stupor for a while. Now I couldn't buy alcohol without feeling guilty.

I started smoking marijuana, but gave that up after a short stint. All it seemed to do was change my frame of mind…but not enough to get away from the thoughts that were killing me. My drug dealer recommended heroin, which worked fine for a while. It was expensive, but money wasn't an object. People had been throwing offers at me since the end of the war to do commercials and interviews – I gave in to a couple of them, put in two days' worth of work, and Voila! I was set – more money in my bank account than I could ever snort up my nose.

After a few months, I began to understand why normal people couldn't keep up this addiction. It wasn't just the money, even though I blew through more of it than I would have ever thought possible. It was beating my body down harder than the alcohol – I had cigarette burns on my chest from nodding off while high on the drugs. I'd almost set my room on fire twice. My parents tried to have another intervention, but I'd had my fill of "treatment." The fact was that treatment was for people that wanted to get well. I knew there was no amount of therapy or sobriety that could make me well – I was past that point. I wanted to die. And if I couldn't die, I wanted to be stoned out of my mind. So I took on another one day commercial gig, and used the profit to buy a house for myself, away from my parents.

Soon, snorting the heroin wasn't getting me high enough. I couldn't get rid of the bad thoughts before my nose was stuffed and bleeding, and I would spend hours crying in frustration, trying in vain to get more of the drugs into my body. Then, when I told my trusty drug dealer about my problem, he showed me how to shoot up.

I smashed every mirror in my house. I couldn't bear to look at myself, no matter how high I was. Twice, my housekeeper saved my life by calling an ambulance when my breathing stopped. Twice, I screamed and cussed at her for not letting me die.

Eventually, my parents talked me into selling my house and moving back in with them. They'd given up the idea of getting me into treatment. They sadly accepted the fact that I was going to use until I died, and they just wanted me somewhere where they could be around me and keep me alive for as long as possible. This filled me with even more guilt, which I covered up with more heroin.

So I was sitting at my old desk in my old room, staring out through my childhood window. I had woken up that morning with my supply of dope completely depleted, and I was waiting on my guy to get to my house so I could fix. It was my sole reason for living, now. I was living for heroin so that I could die. It was all so unbearably sad, which only made me use more.

There was a knock on my bedroom door, and I opened it quickly to get my drugs. I took an involuntary step back as I realized it was someone I hadn't seen in months – Marco. He'd tried as hard as my parents to get me better, but like my parents, he seemed to realize that I was already gone. The way he was looking at me made me wish that the drugs _had _already done me in.

"What do you want?" I asked tonelessly. I could only imagine he was here for more of the same – to try to shame me into staying alive for a bit longer.

He shrugged. "You're done," he said simply. "I've already been in contact with both of your dealers. Well, not _me_, per se…but they've all been talked to by a large, pissed off gorilla. They won't be supplying you anymore."

I couldn't even find it in me to be mad. "Whatever. You know I'll just find it somewhere else," I told him.

"Wrong," Marco said. "Because everybody you know has said everything there is to say to you…except one thing. What I'm about to say to you now. You are probably going to want to fight me. You may even want to kill me. But I'd rather you try to kill me than put all your effort into killing yourself for one more second."

I knew he wouldn't leave to let me begin my search for dope until I heard him out, so I sat on the bed. "Let me have it, then," I said listlessly. "Give me both barrels."

Marco took the desk chair and leaned forward toward me. "The way you've been living – or rather, the way you've been dying – is beyond ridiculous. You do it because you're sad about Tom and Rachel – I get that. But this is the worst possible way to treat them, even though they're gone. Every time you stick that needle into your vein, you're pissing in both of their dead faces."

Before my brain could protect itself behind a wall of apathy, the image of me doing just that flashed through my mind. I reacted – I swung at Marco and popped him good, right in the eye. We both stood, and I kept swinging. He didn't hit me back. Due to the atrocious shape my body was in, I was only able to throw a few punches before I collapsed back onto my bed in exhaustion.

"Good," Marco said, wiping blood from his nose. "Thank _God._ You _finally _let yourself feel something. I know it hurt. I know it was harder than being stoned. But _it's not all about you. _They're dead. You're alive. So _live_, God damn it!" He was suddenly furious. "Stop being a worthless piece of shit, and be _Jake Berenson_! You saved the entire planet, you moron! Why did you even bother if you were just going to fall to pieces like this?"

I just laid there and panted. I was too out of breath to respond, so he filled the silence. "You know, I tried for three days to talk Cassie into coming here with me. She wouldn't do it. She flat-out refuses to see you. Honestly, Jake, I think she hates you for what you've become. _I _hate you, sometimes."

I tried to go back into my shell, to not care about anything, but Marco had woken something up inside of me. Something I hadn't felt in months. I felt like…maybe…I wanted to live. Just maybe. I was so addicted to the drugs that I wanted to throw Marco out of my room and scrape my desk for any scraps of heroin I may have accidentally left behind. The urge made me feel sick.

I looked at Marco. His nose had stopped bleeding. He was well-dressed, proud of himself. He was what I _should _have been. I knew instinctively that if I got a hold of another speck of heroin, I'd just bury this feeling down and use until I died. A faint stirring of desire to survive welled up in my chest, and before I could lose the nerve, I looked into Marco's eyes. They softened at the pleading look in my own. "Help me," I said, and even to me, my voice sounded pathetic. "Tell me what to do, Marco – help me. I want to live. I want to live for Rachel and Tom. Help me."

He hugged me as he pulled me off of my bed. "I will," he said, and his voice was strong. "I will help you, Big Jake. Come on. I'll help you." And, both because I trusted him and I didn't know what else to do, I followed him.

**A/N: **LOL…I got a PM asking me if I had a heroin problem and if I needed help…just thought maybe I should address that. I'm familiar with addiction, although my worst personal addiction is the occasional cigar. Unless you count coffee…then I'm a hopeless junkie.


	7. Time to Dance Part 1

**Author's Note: **Hi! Not to be annoying…and if I've said it once, I've said it a million times…but if you take the time to read this, please take the extra two seconds it takes to drop a short review. I can take these one-shots or leave them; if this one gets another sixty individual hits without any reviews, leave it I shall. Don't leave it to the next guy or girl to review because you're feeling lazy – do your part to save the fanfics! Reviews are the only sort of compensation I (or _any _of the ffn authors) get for taking the time to write these - _please _review. And, as always, I hope you enjoy.

**Time to Dance (Part One)**

Ever since becoming an Animorph, I've gotten pretty good at looking over my shoulder. I've developed a sort of sixth sense, always aware of my surroundings; I'm always looking for shady stuff, and I can tell when I'm being followed. And, as school dragged on on Thursday, I was definitely being followed.

I clocked my stalker by the end of second period – this kid named Juan. Harmless enough, or so I thought; he was just this sort of popular guy that never really paid me too much attention. He was always busy telling jokes and kidding around with his other popular friends. Kind of like Marco, except Juan was actually sort of funny, most of the time – probably because he didn't try as hard as Marco. Or maybe it was just that I had been around Marco so much that I'd become immune to whatever charm he may have possessed. Anyway, by the time lunch rolled around, I was getting a serious case of the creeps. Juan sat a table down from me, by himself; that was unusual enough to get my attention, even if he _hadn't _kept stealing glances at me. He was definitely watching me.

I considered my options. Confront him? Yeah, that was my favorite approach to adversity – head on. But what if it was something more sinister than it looked like? As in, Juan was a controller, and he noticed that me and my friends were always slipping off together. We tried to make it seem like we weren't a group, but we were some busy Animorphs – it was impossible to entirely disguise the fact that we were sometimes up to something. So far, we'd been lucky – nobody cared about four random kids in a high school of thousands.

I sighed. What, exactly, was I going to do about it even if he _were _a controller? Everybody knew I didn't pull punches – it would be out of character for me to just let this kid stalk me at will. It was going to have to be a confrontation, and the sooner, the better. And I'd stand a better chance of figuring out what he was up to if I caught him off-guard. So, five minutes before the bell rang to end lunch, I got up with my tray and took the long way to the trash can to pass by where Juan was sitting. When I was behind him, I cleared my throat, and he turned around.

He tried to act all wide-eyed and innocent, like he couldn't imagine what I wanted. I stared him down and said, "So, what? You got some kind of a problem? Because I'm not stupid – you've been following me all day, man. What do you want?"

My barrage of aggressive questions did exactly what they were supposed to – they caught him off-guard. He stammered. "Uh, um, nothing. What's up, Rachel?"

I rolled my eyes. "Stop stalling and tell me why you've been stalking me, you creep," I said, a bit more harshly than was probably necessary. I noticed that his friends a couple of tables down were watching the developing conflict with interest. He tried a smile on me, and despite myself, I felt my temperature cool down a couple of degrees.

"I didn't mean to creep you out. Sorry," he said, and I noticed that he was actually blushing, avoiding eye contact. I was starting to get a bad feeling. "It's just, well, homecoming is Saturday, and I was just kind of wondering if you…had a date yet?"

Now _I _was the one caught unprepared. Of _course _it was something innocent and dumb; you can't blame me for overreacting, though. I mean, you spend your off-time fighting bodysnatching aliens, you're bound to get a little paranoid. A suspicious controller I could handle – _this _was out of my area of expertise. His friends at the other table started the snicker as I stood there, speechless, and the embarrassment shook me out of my funk.

"Look, Juan, I appreciate it and everything…but I'm not really the 'take-to-the-dance' kind of girl. Maybe you should ask someone else."

He seemed to grow a little braver at my obvious discomfort. "You just saying that?" he asked. "Did somebody else already ask you? Because if you don't want to go with me, that's cool…you can just say no."

I laughed. "Trust me, if I didn't want to go with you, I'd tell you. It's just that I'm not going, period. With anyone. Don't take it personally."

He nodded; he believed me, I could tell. "Well, will you at least consider it? I'm not going to ask anyone else, in case you change your mind; I've kind of been working up the courage to ask you all week." He held out a piece of paper, and out of instinct, I took it. "Will you call me if you have a change of heart? I think we'd have fun."

The kid was working his way through my defenses – there was something cute about the way he admitted to having to work up the courage to talk to me about it. Didn't mean I wanted to go, but my traitor brain was starting to throw the _what ifs _at me. '_What if it _would _be fun? What if turning him down was a mistake?_' I decided to throw the kid a bone. "I'll think about it. But don't get your hopes up, Juan; like I said, I'm not a go-to-the-dance kind of chick. Thanks for asking me, though." I started to walk away.

"I'm not going to ask anybody else – I want to go with you. Just think about it," he urged me as I quickly walked away from the uncomfortable scene. I dumped my tray and exited the cafeteria as quickly as I could without looking like I was running away. As I paced the hall toward my locker, I felt someone following me again. '_Okay – there's a little bit of cute stalking, then there's just plain not knowing when to quit,_' I thought, and I turned to give Juan a lesson on the difference between the two.

Instead of Juan, it was a grinning Marco. "So? Did Juan finally pop the question?" he asked.

I gaped. "You _knew _he was going to ask me? And you let him ambush me without giving me a heads-up?"

He shrugged, unashamed, still grinning. "Had to let the guy get a fair shot in. You should go with him," he said. "I got Ally to be my date. We could double. Triple, really."

Before I could help it, I snorted a laugh. "You've got to be kidding. Why would I ever do that?"

He rolled his eyes, but I could tell he was a little stung. "Am I really that bad? It might actually be fun." For the second time in less than five minutes, I started feeling bad over something I had never asked for. "Nevermind. Jake and Cassie are going with us. Forget I said anything."

I sighed. "Marco, even if I didn't think it was a horrible idea, did you ever stop to think about Tobias? About how he'd feel about it?" I could tell from his expression that he hadn't. But Marco was quick; I had to give him that.

"Okay, so forget Juan. Go with Tobias."

Great. Now I was stuck – I knew good and well Tobias would go with me if I asked him to, and Marco _knew _that I knew. I sighed for about the tenth time that day. "I guess I need to go shopping; I doubt Tobias has a tux stashed in his meadow."

Annoyingly, Marco just nodded, as if he knew all along what my final answer would be. "I'll make the reservations at dinner for six, then. You're doing a good thing, Rachel. Tobias might not show it, but it'll mean a lot to him." And, as much as the twerp aggravated me, I knew he was right. And, despite myself, I started thinking that maybe it _would _be fun; especially if Jake and Cassie were there to share the burden that was Marco.

"You owe me," I said illogically. "You _all _owe me. Everybody owes me forever."

Marco laughed. "I'll swing by the meadow after school to tell bird-boy he's got a date. You can pick him up a tux? Or do I need to take him to the mall and get him fitted?"

I thought I knew Tobias well enough to know what size tuxedo to rent him; the fact that Marco had offered was extremely sweet, though. Not for the first time, just when I thought Marco was going to annoy me to death, he showed a level of thoughtfulness I didn't think he possessed. "I can handle it. You know, you're not such a bad guy, Marco. When you're not busy being a total stain, that is," I quickly tacked onto the end, so my compliment wouldn't go to his head. "Tell Tobias to swing by my place tonight so we can talk details."

Marco just nodded again. "It's a good thing you're doing, Rachel." Without waiting for a reply, he walked off toward his next class. I stared after him. '_You know, as bad as Marco can be sometimes…Jake could have done a lot worse picking a best friend to stick the rest of us with,_' I thought.


	8. Time to Dance Part 2

**Author's Note: **Thank you Kaye, Sarah, D, and hawktakesflight for the reviews. I appreciate them more than I can say in a quick A/N. Thanks. Especially Sarah – I was actually wondering how Juan was going to react, and your suggestion was a "duh!" moment, lol. So, credit where credit is due – thanks for the idea. :D

**Time to Dance (Part Two)**

My mom was running around the house like a crazy person, trying to make sure she had her camera ready for when people started showing up. After school on Friday, I'd told her about the dance simply because I was supposed to get approval before spending more than a hundred bucks on the credit card; between my dress and renting Tobias a tuxedo, I was definitely going to have to exceed that. To my surprise, my mom had gotten overly-excited about the whole thing; she'd insisted on renting all of us a limo, made dinner reservations for the six of us at a really swanky uptown restaurant, the whole nine yards. I hadn't realized until that point how worried about me my mom had actually been – me acting like a normal teenage girl going to a school dance was seriously comforting to her. This only reinforced the feeling that going to this stupid dance was a good decision.

I had even thought to call Juan, to tell him to find another date, because I was taken for this one. He'd acted a little stung at first, but once I explained that my out-of-town boyfriend was surprising me, he seemed to relax. I assured him it wasn't anything personal and that I still appreciated his invitation, and I got away from that mess by promising him one dance at the party.

As I put the finishing touches on my hair, I studied myself in the mirror and smiled. The pale gold dress I'd picked out was really great, and there's something nice and normal about dressing up every now and again. I was _really _excited to see Cassie; she'd quietly asked if I had a dress she could borrow, but I wasn't having that. I picked one out from the same store I'd gotten mine, and I couldn't _wait _to see how she looked in it. And I didn't have to wait long; the doorbell rang, and I took the stairs two at a time, carrying my shoes in my right hand. They were fabulous, but I wasn't putting those deathtraps on until the last possible minute.

I got to the front hall just as my mom was answering the door. My mom squealed and snapped a picture, and I heard Cassie sigh quietly as she let my mom hug her. She slipped past as her parents and my mom started talking excitedly; I guess Cassie's parents were just as excited as my mom. She looked down shyly as I studied her.

I don't like to toot my own horn…but when you're on, you're on. And I had obviously been in the freakin' _zone _when I'd picked out the dress she was wearing now – the dusty purple complimented her skin tone perfectly. "Wow," I said, and she couldn't hold back a smile. "You look _awesome_."

"You too." She held out the skirts of her dress uncertainly. "Do you think he'll like it?"

There was no question in my mind as to who she was talking about. "Of _course_. He'd be an idiot not to."

That was all we had time for before the doorbell rang again, and it didn't stop _binging _for the next five minutes. First Marco and his date arrived, then Jake and Tobias arrived together. The parents were all right behind them, even Marco's dad. Tobias looked remarkably uncomfortable in the suit I'd rented for him, even though I'd gone for the more casual, long-tie look instead of the stuffy bow tie style. He probably would have been just as uncomfortable in a bathrobe, though; sometimes I thought that just being in his human body was getting to be odd for him. After a barrage of flashbulbs as the parents snapped their million photos, we all filed out to the waiting stretch limousine parked in front of my house.

At first, it was sort of uncomfortable. Everybody was out of their element. It wouldn't have been quite so bad, had Marco's date Ally been an insider, but she wasn't. She was a quiet, sweet girl who I really didn't know that well, and I made an effort to include her; I could see she appreciated it. After a few bad jokes from Marco, the tension in the limo eased a bit; we were all laughing and generally having a good time by the time we arrived at the restaurant. The Maître d treated us like royalty as he led us to our reserved table, and I idly wondered how much money my mom had spent to make _that _happen.

"What should I order?" Tobias whispered to me, and he looked genuinely confused. I looked over the menu and smiled.

"How about the rabbit chops in the raspberry reduction? I hear rabbit's pretty good," I said casually, and he smiled back and nodded. See, Tobias ate rabbit in his hawk form, when he could get it; he claimed it was the best. Hawks don't have a sense of smell or taste, but I guess he was referring to the tenderness.

The conversation was growing more and more natural; Ally was quiet, but she smiled and laughed at all the appropriate places and looked generally happy to just be included in the group. She seemed to really like Marco, and I was glad for him. In my opinion, the best part of her presence was just that – her presence. Not that I thought he was quite so insensitive as to make bird jokes at Tobias at a nice dinner, but Ally's presence meant that Marco didn't even have the option.

Before I knew it, the waiter was clearing the empty plates away from the table and offering desert; the sky was rapidly darkening through the plate glass window at the front of the restaurant. The couples dallied over their shared deserts, Tobias and I included; he took a perfunctory bite of the chocolate cake, but I could tell that having something cold and sweet in his mouth freaked him out after eating nothing but raw meat for so long. Too soon, Jake cleared his throat. "So, I guess we should head on to the dance, huh?" I'd heard him sound less-grim while declaring a frontal assault on Yeerk positions. "It's already eight…"

Marco was the only one who seemed oblivious to the discomfort that parading around in dress-up clothes in front of the school was going to cause the rest of us. "Let's do it. I'm ready to bust a move." He did a seated version of a disco move, and Ally giggled. Four sets of eyes rolled, but we all stood to leave. I motioned to the waiter and discreetly asked for the check; he assured me that my mom had already taken care of everything, including a nice tip for himself. He wished us a good time, and we filed back out to the limo.

A school dance. Me. I was a little apprehensive, despite myself; I'd been being totally honest when I'd told Juan I wasn't a 'go-to-the-dance' girl. But, for Tobias' sake, I was determined to be free and easy for the whole night; whatever discomfort I might be feeling was nothing compared to his. We took our seats in the passenger area of the limo, and it took us toward our newest mission – the homecoming dance.


End file.
